She reeled, catching his arm, fighting down a wild impulse to shriek out against what might have been, dangerously inclined toward a fatal confession. Then she saw a dark smirch across his sleeve and brushing it away, asked breathlessly:
"Where did you get that?"
"Coming up. Infernally black stairs—couple of fellows trod all over me. Bless your heart, Dodo, I say I didn't know you frightened as easily as that. What a brute I am. Come here!"
He sat down, holding out his arms.
"You mustn't frighten me, Garry—you must be careful just now," she said weakly, sinking against his shoulder.
He surveyed the room curiously, running his hand over her hair. "Odd old room. Seems like old times, doesn't it?"
"I hate it," she said passionately.
"It was pretty rough going," he said sobered immediately. "A pretty tight squeeze. But you pulled me out of it,—you curious, fragile little child. How did you ever dare?"
"Not such a child as you think," she said rebelliously.
"The idea," he said, laughing gloriously. Then he became serious again. "Dodo, that's what's marvelous about you women. You can go up against the ugliness of life and never—not for an instant—even realize what you touch. Bless your innocence!"